


i believe we never come back

by charcoalsuns



Series: sportsfest 2018 [4]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, canon into future
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-07-01
Packaged: 2019-06-12 11:55:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15339336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charcoalsuns/pseuds/charcoalsuns
Summary: Impressions over the years, and letting them change.





	i believe we never come back

**Author's Note:**

> (BR 2) [for a prompt by themorninglark](https://sportsfest.dreamwidth.org/8539.html?thread=944987#cmt944987):  
>   
>  _I believe in a source. I believe we never come back._  
>  _I believe two people standing in traintracks_  
>  _are bound to stop feeling_  
>  _the train that keeps running them over._
> 
> \- Stacie Cassarino, "Winter Vernacular"

  


_I'm not like you,_ Kunimi thinks, sweat insubstantial in the small of his back, staring at a jumping boy in mild, mild awe and unfolding silence. He takes a single drink of water, presses down the cap, stretches to his feet once more. The serve thumps into the floor at least half a meter out of bounds. Kageyama tosses up another ball.  
  
_I'm not like you_ , Kunimi thinks, sweat slicking his fingers across his temple when he shoves back against the thrumming. There is a hollow burning wider in his chest, sparks and smoke scraping up his throat, down with every fed-up breath. He doesn't collapse. He's prepared for accusations; he doesn't need approval. Spitting from his shelter where his bruises lay clean, he's never been more serious in his life.  
  
_I'm not like you,_ Kunimi doesn't think, as his hair holds in place from his teammates' ruffling, but there is a boy planted still in the floor across the net, and he thinks it, toward a shifted target. There is a brim filling higher in Kunimi's chest, flowing out and over his tongue as he laughs. Around him, everyone takes a moment to breathe, bright lights on their heads like crowns each their own, like circlets crafted from the right sort of force, and the reciprocal kind of demand. Kageyama stares, stares without seeing the juncture where his stretch of road splits away.  
  
_It's been a while,_ Kageyama doesn't say, crouched beneath a windowsill at a school he declined to apply to, because if not the people inside, someone would certainly hear him, and he would have to think of an answer to why he is here, at a school he doesn't belong in. The people inside are practicing, shouts echoing loud through the place, reprimands and recommendations, requests and readjustments. Here and there, the people inside are smiling. When Kageyama turns his feet toward the bus stop, realizations soaring out the top of his head like kites cut finally free, he doesn't look back, toward a school he will meet when their paths cross ahead.  
  
_It's been a while,_ Kageyama doesn't say, slouched against plastic cracks so faint they feel solid against his back. A breath that isn't an answer clouds in the evening air, and is gone. Kunimi doesn't stop walking.  
  
"It's been a while," Kageyama says, nearly lost to the chatters and sizzles around them. It's sometime after eight o'clock on a worknight, and side by side or from afar, their orders have never matched. But Kunimi stares at him like he's a not-yet-chewed piece of gum, shoes flat on the ground as he moves his feet, just slightly, so the one shuffled closer to himself is also the one closer to Kageyama. "How have you been?" he tries, the words not as clumsy as they could have been, and Kageyama, who has stopped counting losses, who watches Kunimi consider him in his own time as twists of steam rise from their bowls, marks a tiny notch in his fist.  
  
"I've been okay," Kunimi says. Scabs twinge, but they do not open.

  



End file.
